Some Sunny Day (13 page)

‘How can you say that?’ Rosie stopped her, shocked. ‘Dad loves you.’

‘No he doesn’t. That bloody sister of his means more to him than I do. If he really cared about me he’d be here with me instead of leaving me to cope with this bloody war on me own without a man to look after me. And I need that, Rosie. I need it badly.’

This was a side to her mother that Rosie hadn’t seen before and it shocked her.

‘How can you say that? Dad’s away in the merchant navy and at sea, working for us, for our country. I don’t understand.’

‘No you don’t understand. No one does. They never have and they never will.’ There was a wildness in her mother’s voice now that alarmed Rosie. ‘Dennis is good to me. He spoils me, and he looks after me; allus giving me stuff and paying me compliments, right from the first day I started at the factory. Came right up to me, he did, and said how pretty I was. I could see then of course that the other women – a load of old trouts they are an’ all – were jealous.’

‘The manager?’

‘Yes. Dennis is the manager of the factory, and a proper gentleman. He’s not like your dad. He told me straight out that his wife wasn’t treating him right.’

Rosie knew that her parents’ marriage wasn’t a happy one but she had never imagined that her mother would do anything like this. ‘He’s married as well!’ Rosie couldn’t conceal her revulsion. She was still too shocked to accept what she had witnessed. ‘You can’t do this, Mum. Promise me you’ll stop seeing him,’ she begged her. ‘You’ve got to. You must see that…what you’re doing is wrong, and…’

Her mother was crying now.

‘You’ve got to, Mum,’ Rosie insisted. ‘If you don’t, Dad is bound to find out and then what’s going to happen?’

‘All right, but don’t you go saying anything about Dennis and me to your dad. Not that he’d care, exceptin’ that bloody Maude would kick up a right fuss.’

Rosie couldn’t bear to say anything. She knew that she wouldn’t tell her father but she also knew that it wouldn’t be for her mother’s sake that she kept her silence.

‘Right, now what we’re going to do is mek a bit of a fire at the far end of this ’ere air-raid shelter, wot will fill it with smoke and then you girls are going to crawl through it to the other end with the stirrup pump, and put out the fire.’

Angela Flynn, who had been paired with Rosie for this exercise, pulled a face and looked disgruntled, whilst the good-looking young fireman who was standing listening whilst the group of girls were given their instructions caught Rosie’s eye and winked at her.

Rosie gave him a withering look and turned away. Men were all the same and all after the one thing. What she had witnessed last night had put her off all of them for good. First Sylvia making a fool of herself over Lance, and then her own mother. How could she have betrayed her father like that, and with a married man? Rosie felt sick all over again. She had hardly dared close her eyes last night when she had gone to bed for fear of the unwanted images
that would form of her mother with her lover. Rosie knew that she would never ever forget what she had seen. She was still in shock from it.

Three other pairs of girls had to go into the smoke-filled shelter under the careful watch of the ARP warden and the firemen before it was Rosie and Angela’s turn.

As they waited, Angela grumbled, ‘I don’t see what putting out a fire in a blooming air-raid shelter has to do with being on fire-watch duty. Me da says that they shouldn’t be askin’ girls to go climbing about on roofs watching for fires anyway.’

The young fireman had made his way round the edge of the waiting group and was now standing next to them. Angela’s face brightened immediately.

‘So what’s your name then?’ she demanded. ‘I’m Angela, I live at number 28, and this here next to me is Rosie from round the back on Gerard Street.’

‘I’m Rob Whittaker. My family’s from the Wirral but I’ve been transferred here to Liverpool and I’m boarding down at number 35. Nice to meet you both. As for what’s happening here, it’s to show you how to deal with the fires that are caused by incendiary bombs,’ he explained patiently.

‘Bombs? You mean we’re going to be expected to mess around with bombs?’ Angela shrieked. ‘My dad will never agree to that.’

‘It isn’t the incendiaries themselves, it’s the damage the fires they cause can do if they aren’t
put out straight away,’ Rob Whittaker continued calmly. ‘There’s no danger in putting out these fires if it’s done promptly and properly.’

‘Come on, Angela, it’s our turn next,’ Rosie commanded her partner, ignoring their new neighbour’s friendly overtures. She had grown up vaguely aware of the fact that some of their neighbours disapproved of her mother, but after what she had seen last night she felt acutely conscious of her own position. If Rob Whittaker thought she was the kind of girl who had no respect for herself then he could think again and find someone else to come over all smiles with. Out of the corner of her eye Rosie could see the way her cold response had made the smile fade from his eyes. She told herself she should be pleased and not feel guilty.

‘Right, you two next,’ the ARP warden was calling out.

‘What’s got into you?’ Angela demanded crossly. ‘Proper rude, you were.’

Had she been? Rosie looked back over her shoulder but Rob Whittaker had his back to her and was deep in conversation with someone else. As though he could feel her looking at him he turned round but there was no smile for her this time.

Mortified, Rosie looked away. Her throat felt raw from the combination of the cold October air and the smell of smoke hanging in a pall over the city from the bomb-damaged docks.

Hitler’s attacks on their city had been relentless. There had been twenty air raids in September and
already in October they were into double figures. Night after night people’s sleep was disturbed by the warning sound of the air-raid siren, bringing those who had not made the decision to head for the shelters ‘just in case’ tumbling from their beds with fast-beating hearts. But despite all that, somehow they had all got used to living on the knife edge that had become their lives, Rosie recognised. To panic at the sound of the siren, or to act scared was seen as letting the side down, and everyone tried to bolster their own and other people’s courage by straightening their shoulders and announcing that Hitler could do his worst, but he wasn’t going to beat them.

At first it had been frightening to turn a corner and see a gaping hole in a street where only the previous day there had been buildings, or to look towards the docks and see the glow of flames from something burning, but with the papers full of reassurances that bomb damage to the city and loss of life was minimal, and the docks turning round more ships faster than ever and securing their precious cargoes safely, the people of Liverpool were holding their heads up high, fiercely determined not to let Hitler demoralise them.

The truth was that Rosie was far more worried about her mother’s affair than she was about Hitler’s bombs. It was occupying her thoughts virtually to the exclusion of everything else.

Perhaps she had been unfair to her mother but she was still finding it difficult to think straight.
The image of her mother and her lover both struggling into their clothes in the dim light of the fire was one that she knew would be burned into her mind for ever. She didn’t want to keep on thinking about it but she couldn’t stop.

Her mother had still been in bed when Rosie had left this morning and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go in to her. Not that it would have made any difference. Christine would no doubt refuse to talk to her about it.

‘Off you go, and remember, keep low under the smoke, and when you get to the fire at the bottom of the shelter, use the stirrup pump to put it out.’

Rosie shuddered as she dropped down on all fours and started to crawl into the thick grey smoke. Even though she knew that they weren’t really in any danger, she still felt slightly sick and apprehensive as she followed the instructions. Angela had gone in first but suddenly she started to turn round.

‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ she told Rosie frantically. ‘I can’t breathe. I’ve got to get out.’

‘Angela, it’s all right,’ Rosie tried to calm her, but Angela was clutching at her throat and trying to stand up – the very thing they had been told not to do.

‘Get down,’ Rosie begged her, pulling on the straps of her dungarees, but to her shock Angela struck out at her, and then suddenly collapsed, pulling Rosie down with her. Rosie tried to save herself but it was too late. She felt something hit
the side of her head, causing pain to explode inside it. She could hear the ARP warden calling their names, her head was throbbing and she badly wanted to be sick. Angela was breathing in a funny way and making a frightening noise, her eyes bulging.

‘What’s going on in there?’ the ARP warden yelled angrily.

Rosie shouted out, ‘Angela’s not well, Mr Walton. She’s breathing funny and she won’t move…’ The smoke had thickened and Rosie could only just about make out the hunched shape of Angela’s frighteningly inert body. She tried to drag the other girl towards the exit but she was too heavy for her, and Rosie’s chest felt so tight and sore from inhaling smoke that she could hardly breathe herself. And then suddenly she saw Rob Whittaker materialising in front of her out of the smoke, and reaching for her.

Rosie shook her head. ‘Take Angela first,’ she insisted. She saw the look he gave her before he turned away to help the other girl, and now it wasn’t just the smoke that made her eyes sting.

‘Come on, Rosie, lassie…’

Rosie clung on gratefully to the hand the ARP warden had extended to her, his voice so much warmer and kinder now. In no time at all, or so it seemed to Rosie, she was out of the shelter and coughing the smoke out of her lungs, then breathing in fresh air, whilst two of the men went back in to put out the fire.

‘How’s Angela?’ Rosie asked anxiously as soon as she could speak.

‘She’s pretty poorly but she’s going to be all right,’ the ARP warden assured her. ‘Daft thing didn’t think to tell us that she suffers from a bad chest. Now hold still whilst we have a look at that bump on your head…’ Rosie winced as she felt the sting of iodine being applied to her wound.

Someone had sent word to Angela’s family and her father pushed his way through the small crowd that had gathered. Having assured himself that his daughter was unharmed, although badly shocked, he had come over to thank the ARP warden.

‘It’s not me you should be thanking but young Rosie,’ Mr Walton told him firmly. ‘If it hadn’t been for her managing to keep calm and acting promptly, your Angela could have been a sight worse off than she is.’

Rosie blushed and protested that she hadn’t really done anything, but when Angela’s father had left to take Angela home, Mr Walton told Rosie firmly, ‘You’ve got the makings of a good fire-watch guard, Rosie. Your dad would be right proud of you. You’ve got a nasty bump on your head, though.’ He looked up and then called out, ‘Rob, will you walk Rosie home for us?’

‘Oh, no,’ Rosie protested uncomfortably, ‘I can walk myself home. Honestly.’ But it was too late. Rob Whittaker was already helping her gently to her feet from the upturned bucket where Mr
Walton had made her sit down whilst he looked at her injuries.

‘Mr Walton was telling me that your dad’s in the merchant navy,’ Rob commented after they had walked to the end of the street in silence.

‘Yes,’ Rosie agreed.

‘So’s my brother, and I was all set to join him when a pal told me about this job that had come up in the fire service.’

As they turned the corner Rosie suddenly felt dizzy. She put her hand out towards the wall to support herself but immediately Rob Whittaker took hold of her in a firm but gentle grip.

‘Take it easy,’ he cautioned her. ‘You’re bound to feel a bit sickly, like. It’s the shock.’

‘I thought Angela was going to die,’ Rosie admitted shakily. ‘She was breathing that funny.’

‘It’s the smoke. It affects some that way.’ Something about the way he was looking at her made Rosie feel safe and very comfortable with him. Perhaps she had been wrong to give him the cold shoulder earlier, she admitted. He was every bit as tall and as dark-haired as Nancy’s cousin Lance, but where his eyes held an expression that Rosie didn’t like, Rob’s showed only kindness and warmth.

They had almost reached her front door so she stopped walking.

‘I’m all right now,’ she told him. ‘Thanks for seeing me back safely.’

He didn’t try to go any further with her, but
Rosie saw when she reached the door and turned round to look, that he was still standing where she had left him, watching over her.

‘So what’s bin happening to you then?’ Sylvia demanded on Monday morning when she saw the bruise on Rosie’s forehead.

‘There was a bit of an accident when we were doing our fire-watch practice,’ Rosie told her.

It was a relief to come into the shop and get back to normality after the events of the weekend and the atmosphere they had left behind. Rosie and her mother were not on speaking terms and Rosie had hardly slept for worrying about what she had seen. Her mother had gone out on Sunday afternoon and had not returned until late in the evening. Rosie had been unable to help wondering if she had been with her lover, but since her mother was refusing to speak to her she knew there had been no point asking.

They had a busy morning, so Rosie didn’t see much of Sylvia, but when the dinner bell rang, instead of going to get her sandwiches and join her, Sylvia hurried to put on her coat, announcing that she was going out.

‘It’s raining cats and dogs,’ Rosie protested.

‘It’s not that bad, and besides, I want some fresh air,’ Sylvia told her.

‘It might be summat fresh she’s after but it isn’t fresh air,’ Fanny Williams, one of the older girls, snorted after Sylvia had gone. ‘She’ll be after
meeting up with that cousin of Nancy’s wot came into the shop as bold as brass earlier, looking for her. Well, she’d better watch her step, that’s all I can say, because it’s as plain as the nose on her face what he’s after. You could see it in his eyes.’

Enid, the senior assistant, was already compressing her mouth with disapproval. ‘She’ll be getting a name for herself if she starts going with the likes of him, if what I’ve heard about him is true. And she’s got no business telling him to come to the shop. Mrs Verey would have a fit if she knew.’

Rosie’s heart sank. She hadn’t thought that Lance was serious enough about Sylvia to come looking for her at work. Rosie might not be very experienced where men were concerned but she instinctively knew a predator when she saw one.

It was well beyond their allotted lunch hour when Sylvia finally returned, pink-cheeked and almost giddy with excitement.

‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen,’ she said to Rosie.

‘That’s what you think,’ Rosie checked her. ‘Fanny told us all about Lance coming into the shop asking for you. You’ll be in real trouble if Mrs Verey finds out.’

Sylvia pouted and tossed her head. ‘Why shouldn’t he come in? He’s got the money to treat his girl.’ Her eyes shone. ‘Oh, Rosie, he’s just like an actor out of a film. He’s ever so handsome. He was asking if you and I would go out on a double date with him and that Johnny on Wednesday.’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Dad’s ship is due in this week, and I wouldn’t go anyway. We don’t know them, Sylvia, and if you want my opinion I don’t think—’

‘Well, I don’t. And I’m going even if you aren’t.’ Sylvia looked close to tears.

‘Sylvia, you can’t,’ Rosie protested. ‘Your dad would never allow it.’

‘He isn’t going to know, is he? Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Rosie. You only live once, you know.’

Rosie could see that there was no reasoning with her, but that didn’t stop her feeling concerned.

It was Fanny’s turn to go to the bank with the day’s takings and when she came back she burst into the workroom white-faced. Her brother, like Rosie’s father, was in the merchant navy and there were tears in her eyes as she told them the news she had just heard.

‘It’s one of the convoys. It’s bin torpedoed really badly, three ships sunk and others damaged. They was only a hundred miles off the Irish coast an’ all nearly home. Not that that means much with Hitler bombing the docks like he is. Our Marty was due home this week.’